The Midnight Visit
by IShipMyselfWithEveryone
Summary: After the death of Marco, Jean began to find trouble sleeping. How could he anymore? All he could think about was him. But maybe, if he could just see him one more time, maybe he could finally move on.


As it neared midnight, most would be asleep. It would be regrettable, to stay up late and be tired during a mission the following day. The only sound to occupy the room was the soft snoring of the members of the military.  
In such an atmosphere, one would be surprised to find Jean Kirstein awake.  
The brunet rolled over to face the wall. He hadn't slept well lately, not at all. He couldn't; there was something on his mind, forbidding him from it. It had been three days since Marco Bodt died. But it could've been a million years, there would've been no difference in the way it felt. Jean would never say it aloud, but he missed his best friend more than anything. Of everyone, why did it have to be Marco? If he could've, he would've given everything to have him back. Unfortunately, things could never be so easy.  
Jean had been so lost in thought, he barely had noticed the time. When the clock struck twelve, he was brought back to reality. He buried his face in the pillow in vain attempt at falling asleep.  
"Jean," He heard suddenly, and almost jumped up out of the bed. He knew that voice, but he must have imagined it. There was no way it was him. Jean ignored it and tried to go to sleep.  
"Jean, is that you?" He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he shot up in bed, irritated. But soon, his annoyance faded into disbelief. Before him was a ghostly figure, one quite resembling the form of his late friend. But as soon as he appeared, he was gone again.  
Jean was never one to believe in the supernatural, it was only a bunch of made-up stories to him. Thus, he decided that he must have imagined it. He lied back down, trying his best to move on from the occurrence. But when he rolled over yet again to face the wall, he had to stop himself from letting out a cry of shock. The spectral face of Marco stared down to him.  
The freckled man sat on the bed with his legs crossed, his hands folded in his lap. His expression, a combination of guilt and sorrow.  
"M… Marco?" Jean whispered in fear. It couldn't be. Marco couldn't be here. Marco was dead, he'd seen the corpse himself. But all seemed real as he reached his hand out to caress his cheek. He was cold to the touch.  
"Hello, Jean." Marco said, barely above a whisper.  
"I thought… You died…" Jean said. He wanted to believe Marco was there, that he was back. But it was impossible.  
"I'm so sorry, Jean." Marco told him, his voice gentle, yet pained. "I am dead."  
"How are you here? You can't be real…" Jean could feel tears burning in his eyes, but he would never dare to let them fall.  
"I'm real, Jean. I came to talk to you."  
"But-" Jean tried to counter.  
"Please, I don't have much time. Let me speak." Marco pleaded. Jean was uncertain, but he nodded and allowed his friend to continue.  
"I am so sorry I left you, Jean. I would give anything to still be with you." Marco said. "You and everyone else." He corrected himself quickly. "But please don't spend all of your time grieving me. You have to move on."  
The tears in Jean's eyes threatened to spill over. It was clear Marco had noticed at this point, because he pulled him into a hug. Marco's presence didn't seem to be real. He wasn't breathing, and Jean could not feel his heart beating. He did not feel warm, nor was he particularly cold. He didn't admit any temperature, he merely felt like the air of the room.  
"Don't cry." The specter whispered. "It'll be okay. But please, please just move on. You can't dwell on the loss of my life. You're a great leader, remember that. Keep leading them."  
Jean nodded again into his friend's shoulder, unable to respond. He held his friend closer, although it made no difference. He still felt like nothing.  
"Now, I physically have to leave." Marco said, to Jean's dismay. "But I will always be with you. Never forget that."  
Jean was surprised when Marco kissed his forehead, but he did not dislike it. What he did dislike were the final words "Goodbye, friend." And when Jean looked up, Marco was gone.

When Jean awoke in the morning and remembered the late-night encounter, he decided it was a dream. There was no way Marco had come to visit him. Marco was dead, and that's all there was.  
Or so he thought, until he overheard some people talking at breakfast. "I swear, I heard the voice of Marco last night." He heard someone say. "Sounded like he was calling for Jean…"


End file.
